


enganche

by chameleonchanging



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Turn Left
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:21:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23605213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chameleonchanging/pseuds/chameleonchanging
Summary: Wolffe is stuck at a reception for a new peace treaty, and he is a terrible dancer. What a stupid activity.Maybe the waltz isn’t for him, and he should try tango instead.A "what if" for Ch 18, [ guide ].
Relationships: Plo Koon/CC-3636 | Wolffe
Comments: 21
Kudos: 59





	enganche

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [i take from you everything you will allow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13776939) by [chameleonchanging](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chameleonchanging/pseuds/chameleonchanging). 



Wolffe tries his best but this is not the kind of dance he was made for. Sha definitely takes after her uncle; she’s quietly amused but merciful at heart and grants him his freedom from this _complete and utter bullshit_ after the first dance and before the Minister comes looking for the other more feminine Jedi responsible for peace on her planet, and Wolffe retreats to his corner and his Pack.

Like every good second, Sinker is always up for a ribbing, but reins it in for intel on the new General. There’s only so much Wolffe can provide; he was a little preoccupied with not tying himself in knots while waltzing. He makes a mental note to find and destroy every copy of the footage that he knows exists of him running over the Secretary of the Interior and threatens to offer them up as the next tributes, which does very little to help his situation since Comet has a little (a lot) crush on Sha Koon and jumps at the chance now that he knows she doesn’t bite. Comet is much better at the waltz and goes on to try his luck at swing.

Plo comes to find him at the table later in the night, having exhausted his mandatory diplomatic interactions. He feels like strain from all the noise and bright lights, and Wolffe herds him away from the hall to the quiet dark outside where they stand watching the stars, two moons overhead, shoulders not quite touching but close enough he can almost feel it.

“Never understood what all the fuss is about dancing,” Wolffe grumbles. He’s not bitter about it, at all. Plo sees through him, as always.

“Ah, we each have our arenas,” he says. “Yours is - mmm. Perhaps in a more direct style.” He laces their fingers together and pulls, drawing them chest to chest.

“Plo -”

“The metaphor is less involved in this one, my dear,” says Plo, arranging them and then stepping back, forcing Wolffe to match him to avoid losing balance - slow, slow, fast-fast, slow, over and over like their Shii-Cho drills. This is familiar territory. A give and a take, like pressing forward on the advance. He can almost ignore the distracting press of Plo’s arm over his, and the way his face is _so close_ and -

He misses a step and begins to fall, and he can’t decide whether to resign himself to meeting the dirt or grasping at Plo and possibly tripping him too, but Plo shifts and anchors, inserts a leg between Wolffe’s, and then Wolffe’s got almost all his weight resting hips to chest against Plo with one leg bent over Plo’s thigh, and _damn_ he knew Plo was strong but it shouldn’t be possible for him to hold both of them up at that angle. And then his mind promptly goes elsewhere, like the possibility of doing the same to Plo, pushing him to the edge of his balance among other edges …

“I’ll concede the point,” he says roughly. “But only if you teach me to do that.”


End file.
